Disassociation
by Radon65
Summary: Pre-series, Manga, Brotherhood, or OA.  Ed returns to Mustang's office after having encountered a... problem on his latest mission.


**Disassociation**

Doors slammed and the hard slap of boots on tile could be clearly heard as a small, red-coated fury stormed down the corridors to Colonel Mustang's office. He blew past the colonel's trusted staff, booted the door to the inner office open, and practically threw himself inside, slamming the door behind him so hard the wall shook. The cigarette dropped out of Havoc's mouth, Fuery shrank back behind his desk, a blot of ink leaked out of Falman's pen as it froze on the page, Breda swallowed hard, and Lieutenant Hawkeye quietly removed her gun from its holster in case it might be needed.

Mustang glanced up from his paperwork as Ed burst into the room, his eyebrows drawing together in annoyance as the door slammed shut. Did the kid have to be so _loud_? He half opened his mouth to remonstrate with the boy, then paused abruptly at the young alchemist's furious expression. Ed stopped, red-faced and panting in the middle of the room, glaring at his superior and raising a finger to point at him that shook with rage.

"You... You _bastard_!" he spat.

Mustang set down his pen and calmly laced his fingers together, trying not to appear intimidated. Ed shouting and swearing at him was par for the course, but the boy usually lacked such... _intensity_. Ed was so angry he could hardly stand still, and Mustang had the distinct impression that what little self-control Ed had left was the only thing keeping him from leaping on the desk and attempting to throttle his superior. On second thought, Mustang dropped his hands to the surface of his desk, closer to his pockets and where his gloves rested if he needed them. He swallowed invisibly and braced himself to hear whatever it was he done to incur such anger.

"You _bastard_!" Ed spat again, pacing furiously around the room. "That was a set-up, wasn't it? The whole thing was a goddamned _set-up_!" Mustang cleared his throat delicately.

"What was a set-up, Fullmetal?" he asked. Ed stopped pacing and swung to glare daggers at him again.

"The mission!" Ed shouted, so high-pitched and full of fury that it came out as a squeak. "That whole damn mission was a goddamned _set-up_!"

"What do you mean, a 'set-up?'" Mustang asked, genuinely confused. Certainly he'd manipulated the boy a little in the past, but he rarely ever did anything that made Ed quite this angry. And there had been absolutely nothing covert about his subordinate's most recent mission.

"You _knew_!" Ed hissed. "You _knew_ there was nothing there! You knew what they'd do when we showed up!" Mustang sighed inwardly, his question answered. Clearly something had gone wrong on the mission and Ed was blaming him for it. That was nothing new - every dead-end mission, every empty lead, every suggestion he made that yielded little to no results Ed threw back in his face as if he was personally responsible. Something had simply gone horribly wrong and Ed mistakenly believed that he was behind it all. Now he just needed to find out what it was.

"What did they do, Fullmetal?" he asked calmly, hoping it was nothing too serious. He didn't like seeing the boy hurt, physically or emotionally, as happened often when things went wrong. Ed reacted violently when people he was trying to help got killed or hurt, and rage and guilt built up in him over what he could not fix. Fortunately, he was able to vent most of those feelings on Mustang - his superior officer, a man he already disliked, made an easy target for channeling his negative emotions, and Mustang had no problem with Ed pouring out his guilt and hatred on him if it got it out of the boy's system for him. Although every now and then such venting sessions caused Mustang to ponder again whether he had made the right decision in bringing Ed into the military so early, and to need one more scotch than usual after dinner. But, he noted with relief, Ed's anger seemed to be more the anger of having been tricked or humiliated than the anger of having been hurt.

"As if you didn't know!" Ed snarled, suddenly slamming his hands on the edge of the desk and leaning forward, shaking. It took most of Mustang's willpower to stop himself from flinching.

"Let's assume that I don't know," Mustang said, keeping his voice steady and trying not to appear patronizing - that would make Ed even angrier. "Would you mind explaining what it is that they did?"

"They... They... Argh!" Ed yanked his hands off of the desk, knocking several papers to the floor, and flung himself into pacing again. "They jumped on us the minute we showed up! They knew who we were, but they didn't care about the mission! They didn't care about that at all! They thought we were there to _fix the sewer_!"

Ed paused, breathing hard, glaring a challenge at Mustang. Mustang raised one eyebrow incredulously.

"...they what?"

"They made us _fix the sewer_!" Ed shouted. "They couldn't have cared less about why we were actually there! They just said 'as long as you're here, why don't you fix the sewer?' They wouldn't take no for an answer!"

Mustang stared at his subordinate in disbelief, not sure whether he should laugh or not. He hadn't even known the town had been having problems with their sewer. Two famous alchemists suddenly arriving must have seemed like an obvious solution to the townspeople, but no doubt a disgusting one to the alchemists. Ed started pacing again, unable to contain himself.

"They'd never even _heard_ of Dr. Crighton! Or any of his damn research!" At that, Mustang frowned.

"What do you mean they'd never heard of him? That's impossible - according to reports he's been living there for the past eight years."

"I'll tell you how!" Ed stormed. "Because he doesn't exist! You made him up! You made up the whole damn mission so Al and I would go out there and fix a goddamned _sewer_!"

"That's ridiculous," Mustang protested, more to himself than to Ed. "His file clearly said he'd been living there for years." He opened one of the drawers in his desk and dug around for the file in question. What on earth was going on? Fullmetal having to fix a sewer was one thing, but people denying knowledge of a respected alchemist was another. Was the man missing? Had he been kidnapped? Mustang found the appropriate file and yanked it out to leaf through it. In the background of his shuffling papers, Ed continued to rant.

"And it smelled _horrible_! Al offered to just take care of it himself, since it wouldn't bother him, but I couldn't let him do that! I wasn't gonna make him do all the work!"

Mustang found the right page and glanced through it, confirming his information. Dr. Crighton had moved from Central to Rimnor nearly nine years ago, and was a valued and respected member of the community. But why would an entire town deny his existence? Mustang frowned again, puzzled.

"At least he had me ride in his armor!" Ed ranted. "Otherwise it would have been _really_ disgusting! Of course cleaning him off when we were done was probably the worst experience I've had in a while..."

"Fullmetal, let me see your report, will you?" Mustang asked abruptly. Ed swung around in irritation.

"What, you think I wrote a report on that crap? Gimme a break! After you sent us down to Rimore for a goddamned sewer -"

"_Rimnor_," Mustang corrected. "Honestly Fullmetal, can't you even -" He broke off as realization dawned. "What did you say the name of the town was?" Mustang asked. Ed paused mid-pace.

"Rimore," he answered, confused.

"Spell it." Ed did. Mustang sank back into his chair, sighing deeply. "You went to the wrong town, didn't you?"

"I... what?" Ed narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms defensively. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You went to the wrong town, Fullmetal. Didn't you even look at the briefing paper I gave you? Where is Rimore, anyway?" Mustang searched his drawers once more, pulling out a map. Ed was watching him suspiciously, though uncertainty colored his eyes and his glare had become somewhat subdued. Mustang found Rimnor easily, about 80 miles west of East City, where'd he sent - or had intended to send - Ed to check up on Dr. Crighton, a leading medical alchemist who might be able to give the Elric brothers some useful information. His fingers traced over the map, searching for Rimore. "How big was it?" he asked Ed.

"I dunno, kind of like Resembool?" Ed answered. Mustang's fingers stopped abruptly - there it was.

"Good heavens, Fullmetal, it's 300 miles from here! Didn't you notice that it was a long train ride?"

"It's always a long train ride!" Ed complained. He edged up to the desk to look at the map. "...Did we really go to the wrong town?" he asked. Mustang sighed again.

"Yes, apparently you did."

"Oh." Ed fell silent for a moment, staring at the map. Mustang thought he could see the tips of the boy's ears going red. He shook his head despairingly, the absurdity of the situation beginning to settle in. They'd gone to the wrong town. They'd gone to the wrong town completely, a fairly small town where the people knew nothing about Dr. Crighton. And the people there had had problems with their sewer... Mustang couldn't help himself. The hilarity of it all bubbled up his chest and he burst out laughing. Ed's head jerked up and he glared at his superior.

"It's not funny!" he snapped. Mustang shook his head at the young alchemist, tears threatening to leak out of his eyes.

"They... made you..." He laughed helplessly, gasping out words in between fits. "Made you... fix the _sewer_!"He choked on his laughter and had to lean over his desk, breathing hard and trying to bring himself under control. "Made you fix the sewer..." he chuckled. For several minutes he struggled for control. Finally he sniffed and blinked hard, taking a deep breath and leaning back in his chair, stifling the laughter that was still trying to push its way out from between his lips.

"Well," Mustang said shakily, unable to wipe the smile off of his face. "I suggest that next time you read your mission specifications more carefully, Fullmetal." Ed went crimson, swallowing hard and staring shamefaced at the floor. Mustang grew serious. "Really though, you're going to have to keep track of these things," he remonstrated. "If you'd paid attention you wouldn't have ended up in that situation - although I daresay it made the people of Rimore happy." Ed's head shot up, and his glare renewed somewhat. "We can't have you going to the wrong town habitually."

"Yeah, yeah, here comes the lecture," Ed sighed. Mustang rolled his eyes.

"Just don't do it again, Fullmetal." He folded up the map and replaced it and the file in his desk drawer. "And I'm afraid I'm going to have to take the expenses for that trip out of your paycheck. The military isn't going to pay for your going to the wrong town."

"What? But that's not fair!" Ed protested.

"Isn't it? It was your mistake, Fullmetal." Ed sighed, and looked down at his feet again.

"All right, all right," he said unhappily. He glanced back up. "But we helped the people in Rimore, didn't we? That's good PR!" Mustang chuckled.

"Yes, I suppose it is. But I'm still taking the expenses out of your paycheck." Ed crossed his arms and huffed.

"Fine." Mustang picked his pen back up and made a note to himself on his yellow pad.

"Now, go to _Rimnor_ this time and talk to Dr. Crighton. I'll call him and apologize for your delay - hopefully he won't be too irritated that you're two days late."

"Okay."

"Good. Now do you still have the original paper I gave you, or do you need another one?" Ed went faintly crimson again.

"Uh, no. I threw it away." Mustang sighed and reached in his desk for another copy.

"Next time, don't throw it away and maybe you'll be able to remember where you're going." He found the paper, handed it across the desk to Ed, and glanced at the clock. "You should be able to catch the next train to Rimnor today. And I want a report when you get back. Dismissed, Fullmetal." He turned back to his paperwork, but paused when he realized that Ed hadn't left yet. He glanced up. "Yes?" Ed shuffled his feet slightly and kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

"So, uh, it wasn't a set-up or anything..." Mustang gave him a wry smile.

"No, it wasn't."

"It wasn't your fault we ended up... fixing a sewer. So, sorry. Sorry I yelled at you."

"That's all right, Fullmetal. I'm quite used to it." Ed looked up at him from behind his bangs.

"Yeah, I guess you are." He swallowed and suddenly looked defiant. "But maybe I wouldn't yell at you so much if you weren't so damn manipulative!" Mustang grinned. "Wipe that smile off your face!" Ed demanded, but Mustang's grin simply developed a trace of smugness.

"Dismissed, Fullmetal," he repeated. Ed glared at him for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and headed out the door, though much more quietly than when he entered. Mustang's staff watched him apprehensively as he strode out of the inner office, shutting the door behind him with only a faint slam. There was a slight smile tugging at the corners of Ed's lips as he gave them all a wave and set off down the corridor, a spring instead of a stomp in his step. Havoc looked at Fuery, Falman shared a glance with Breda, and Lieutenant Hawkeye considered poking her head in the door of Mustang's office to see if he was still alive.

Inside, Mustang went back to his paperwork, his grin still in place. Ed was learning, slowly but surely. He would no doubt experience more painful things to come, and return to vent his rage and anguish on the man who sent him out to them. He was young, and Mustang would probably never completely stop wondering if he had made the right decision, never completely stop sometimes needing that extra glass of scotch at night. But this time, even if things did go rather... well wrong, Ed hadn't been hurt. It had been a small mistake, and it hadn't cost him. He was going now to talk to a man who might be able to help him recover what he so long ago lost. He had a chance. He had hope. And the next time Ed came into his office, spitting rage and swearing, Mustang could remember that.

* * *

Not my best work, but I rather like it. Please review, and tell me what you think.


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